Dead and Alive
by Channel D
Summary: Tim is being held for ransom, and tortured to meet a foe's demands. Will he still be alove when the team finds him? Is it already too late? Written for the NFA Schroedinger's Cat challenge. Two chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Dead and Alive**  
**by channeld**

_written for_: the NFA _Schrödinger's Cat_ challenge  
_rating_: K plus  
_genre_: drama, thriller

* * *

_disclaimer_: I have still no ownership in NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Tony stared at the little timekeeper in the lower right corner of his computer screen. _Dang McGee for getting me in the habit of using this, rather than my watch or the wall clock._ "Boss, it's been one hour—"

"I know." Gibbs' eyes were on the plasma screen, silently demanding it to give news. "Ziva?"

"Nothing yet. And he has been so punctual…" She tried to hold back the worry and despair from coloring her voice. "Wait…it is coming!" She pushed keys, and the incoming video was transmitted to the plasma screen.

After the nerve-wracking seconds of the video file opening, there it was: the dank-looking dungeon or chamber of horrors where Tim was being held. The slumped-over figure that the camera focused on, arms still chained to the stone wall, appeared to be in the same position as in the video they'd seen one hour ago. Tim's teammates held back their comments.

Then came the same, chilling, voice-altered narration, from off-screen. _"What do you think? Is our cat alive or is he dead?"_ A low chuckle. _"Can he be in both states at the same time? You know the demand. You know where to reply to me."_

There the video ended. "Forwarding it to Abby," Ziva said softly. She'd said this before, for the previous five videos they'd received.

Scarcely a minute later, there was Abby on the visual communicator. _"Got it,"_ the scientist said, without enthusiasm. A few moments passed while Abby, and Ducky beside her, were watching this latest video. Abby's lips were set firmly. _"Duckman, what do you think?"_

"His position hasn't changed since last time," Tony remarked, and Ziva and Gibbs told him to hush.

_"I will have to see the tape just before this one again to be sure, but I believe that is a fresh wound on his shoulder,"_ said Ducky.

"You think he's still alive, then? A postmortem wound—"

_"Wouldn't bleed that much. That's true, Jethro."_

"See what else you can get off that tape, you two," Gibbs directed, and cut the connection. Time was too short to spend it in chat/speculation.

By day's end, if they hadn't uncovered Tim's location, he might be dead…for sure.

* * *

It was almost unbelievable how wrong a simple field call had gone. Tim had been sent that morning to knock on doors and show around a photo of a suspect; a woman wanted in connection with theft of ordinary Navy equipment. It hadn't seemed a dangerous assignment at all, so Gibbs had sent Tim out on his own, without even a vest. The neighborhood he was going to was a nice, quiet one made up of retirees and young families in starter houses.

When after a couple of hours Tim had failed to check in with Gibbs, the team had become concerned. Calls to Tim's phone went to voicemail. Tony and Ziva drove out to the neighborhood Tim had visited and discovered he'd made all of the house calls…and then vanished.

A BOLO on his car had produced nothing so far. There were no leads. Ducky and Abby went over and over copies of the videos, trying to get some clues of where Tim might be held. Up in the squad room, Gibbs, Tony and Ziva racked their brains.

From the first video, the voice had made his demand: that three ex-sailors in prison for arms smuggling be released. If they weren't, Tim would die.

The first tape had come in just after noon, addressed to Special Agent Gibbs, but in NCIS' public general inquiry email line. Some bright person there had quickly forwarded the email to Gibbs and to Vance. Vance, who actually kept an eye on his email throughout the day, had sounded the alarm.

Now he came down to the squad room every so often, demanding progress…and they had little to give him. Abby was their best person at pulling off the hidden items caught on the videos, and even she had uncovered too little.

"Abby hasn't identified the voice," Gibbs grumbled to Vance. "Said the speaker was a pro at it; too many filters before it was recorded."

Vance thought. "Someone in the recording industry. Or a radio station. Or electronics."

It was something they hadn't thought of. "Searching all known radio/recording people who've run up against the Navy or Marines," Tony said eagerly, typing away.

"And I will do the same with electronics," said Ziva.

Gibbs stared once more at the latest video. "The background's too clean," he said. "No distinguishing features at all."

"Like the place has maid service," Vance agreed. He then left; knowing that his helicoptering wouldn't help his MCRT.

* * *

Unspoken was any reaction to the kidnapper's demands. NCIS did not strike deals in hostage or kidnap situations. That was in the Regs and was known all the way down to the greenest agent just out of FLETC. The minute you started to deal with one party, the next party would see a wedge. Personnel would be more likely to become prey to kidnapping.

The downside of this firm policy was that rescue, however problematic, of captives became vital. Failing that, NCIS personnel taken prisoner could be killed. It was a horrible risk of the job.

* * *

The sun was setting when, an hour later, video number six came in. Right from the hint in video number one that more videos would follow, Ziva and Tony had been added to the list of those copied on the initial distribution of the videos, since Gibbs didn't want to be tied to his computer. "Lucky number six, boss," Tony announced. At Gibbs' raised eyebrow, he added, a bit sheepishly, "Just hoping…"

Tim was in a slightly different position this time. He didn't appear to be conscious—if he was still even alive—and more bruising to his face and bare chest was evident. _"Six more hours,"_ said the voiceover. _"That's all you have. If our three men aren't released from custody before then, these images will be the last you have of Agent McGee."_

* * *

Gibbs went to Abby's lab, wanting to see for himself what she was doing. He would have called in people to help if he could think of anyone who could help. Truth was, Abby was the best person around at this sort of thing. In NCIS, Tim was probably second-best. Everyone else was far down the list. He considered asking for help from the FBI and the CIA, but felt this would throw Abby off. She didn't like working with strangers. Sometimes even working with friends riled her. Abby was so important in this. If she couldn't do it..,

She seemed to be highly agitated when Gibbs arrived. He saw Ducky trying to get her to forsake her _Caf-Pow!_ for awhile and take a soothing cup of tea instead. Wonder of wonders, she was doing it. "Anything to get me in my groove," she said, hands shaking a little as she held the mug of tea. "Anything to get Timmy back."

Abby added, "Still nothing on the reply email, either, Gibbs. That's one area Timmy's better at than I am, though I'm no slouch in that department. But it's well-covered. I haven't been able to trace it."

"We don't have any leads on the voice," Gibbs said. "No hits at all on people who have this ability having any run-ins with the military. Other than one person who died in 1999."

Abby cupped her chin in her hand, and typed with the other hand. "This is ridiculous, Gibbs. I can crack problems like this. I've been on this case for six hours, and nothing!"

"Someone with a record too clean to be found," mused Ducky. "Surely it happens now and then."

"Yeah, but there's usually _something_ that gives them away," said Gibbs. The stony look on his face showed another fear: not only that they wouldn't get to Tim in time, but his death would go unsolved; a cold case.

* * *

The night wore on. Tension at NCIS increased. The arrival of video number eleven at 11 p.m. almost ignited Gibbs' team. Tim's position was unchanged from the 10 p.m. video. Ducky could no longer say for sure that Tim was still alive.

Gibbs had not replied by email to most of the videos. That would have been seen as an encouragement, he felt, and Vance agreed. The voiceover again demanded release of the three sailors who were in prison.

With the deadline so close, Gibbs was going to reply now. "Would just say, 'Nuts', but he might not get the reference." Instead he typed. _No deal._

" 'Nuts' was what General McAuliffe, of the Army 101st Airborne division, famously said to the Germans in WWII when they demanded he surrender," Tony explained to Ziva.

"He was talking about food?" Ziva asked, confused.

"I'll explain it later." He spun in place and swore. "I just want to get in my car and drive…_anywhere. Everywhere!_ Some place this ass is holding McGee, and if I hit every place, I'm bound to find him."

"Nice thought, but physically impossible, Agent DiNozzo," said Vance. "Though it's a nice parallel to the Schrödinger's cat problem. You can't be everywhere at the same time. Agent McGee can't be alive and dead at the same time."

The wait now was painful. With no leads, they were helpless. Tim might be held next door, or might be 100 miles away.

Gibbs saw Tony gazing at Tim's desk, looking remorseful. _Sorry, buddy. You were a good friend._ And Ziva—her eyes, downcast, she murmured something low that sounded like Hebrew. A prayer, perhaps.

Gibbs had been in a few similar situations; seen good men die. There was no horror like it.

Ziva roused herself from her murmurings at 11:30 p.m. "There is another video coming through!" she said. This was unexpected, at this time.

It unfolded, and Tony yelped. "What the _hell?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_"So is our Cat McGee alive or dead now? You be the judge,"_ the kidnapper, off screen, said with a laugh, just before Tony's exclamation.

It was what happened next that made the team gasp. Tim, who was still slumped over, then raised his head, released his arms from the wall shackles effortlessly, stood up, faced the camera, and smiled broadly. _"Hi!"_ he said cheerfully. _"Can you come pick me up? My car's not where I am."_ He then gave an address in the southwest quadrant of the District.

The team froze, shocked. Even Vance, happening by then, had no words.

From the visual communicator, Abby said_, "Gibbs! I think we may have something! A close-up of the shackles leads me to believe that they're a very light-weight metal. In fact, they almost look artificial. I can't explain it. But I'm working on it…"_

"Never mind, Abbs." Gibbs said, his voice husky. He terminated the connection. "You heard the man," he said to his team. "Let's go."

"Boss, this has all the makings of a classic trap," Tony argued. "How do we know that that wasn't filmed hours ago?"

"We don't." Gibbs led his people out in a rush.

As they hit the elevator, Abby's voice came on again. _"I'm checking the manufacturers of light-weight metals, Gibbs…Gibbs? Gibbs?"_

* * *

The two NCIS sedans, driven by Gibbs and Tony, screeched to a halt at the address Tim had given. With the late hour, on-street parking in this retail block was wide open.

Already wearing vests under their NCIS jackets, the three burst out of the cars, SIG Sauers in hand. "Hi!" Tim greeted them from under a canopy. He wasn't alone; an arm's length away from him was a short, pug-like man who looked a little nervous.

"Federal agents!" Tony bellowed. "Stay where you are!" The unidentified man raised his arms slightly in surrender.

Ziva moved in to handcuff him, and could have sworn that Tim rolled his eyes.

"Knock off the histrionics, Tony; didn't I tell you you could come get me?" Tim said with a half grin.

Tony took a step forward to give Tim a head slap, but Gibbs grabbed his arm; holding him back. "This is all wrong," Gibbs said, lowly. "They may have a bomb on him."

Hours of torturous waiting had pushed Tony close to the edge. "No," he said mournfully. "Probie, tell him it isn't so. You're free, somehow. I don't know how. I don't even care right now. But it's all over, yeah? You're okay. Everything's okay now. Tell him, Tim. _Tell him!"_

But Gibbs still had his gun leveled, and because he did, so did Ziva. "Tony, call the bomb squad," he directed. "Have them bring their equipment."

Tim's smile drooped a little. "Boss, I assure you I'm not—"

"I trust in my gut, McGee, and in evidence."

* * *

In under an hour, the bomb squad had cleared Tim, having found no trace of explosives on him. "Good," said Gibbs. "Let's get you to a hospital, then; get your wounds tended to."

Tim appeared to squirm a little at the worry still present in Gibbs' voice. "Boss, I'm okay. Let's just go back to NCIS and I'll tell you all about it."

"You're sure you don't want medical treatment? That gash; those bruises—"

"Positive."

Ziva offered, "Tony and I could take the prisoner back to NCIS while you—"

For the first time, Tim glanced at the other man. "Oh, that's Norman. He shouldn't be a prisoner. You should let him go."

"I think you took one too many blows to the head, McGroggy. You're talking crazy," said Tony.

"Let's go back to NCIS," said Gibbs. "I can't wait to hear this story."

* * *

At NCIS, Ducky examined Tim under Gibbs' and Tony's eyes. "He is suffering from a severe case of stage paint," the ME declared shortly. "Someone is quite proficient at creating realistic-looking wounds and bruises."

"He's not hurt?"

"Not as far as I can tell."

"I _told_ you I was okay, boss." Tim hopped down off the table and put his shirt back on.

Gibbs gripped him by the collar. "Then you have a lot of explaining to do," he said coldly.

Tim gulped.

* * *

The team, Ducky and Abby all settled into Vance's office. Vance made a hearty pot of coffee (and one of tea), given the lateness of the hour.

"Talk, Agent McGee," Vance demanded, the pleasantries over. "How did you escape from your kidnappers?"

"It was that light-weight metal, wasn't it?" Abby exclaimed, bouncing in her chair. "You broke free, overpowered that horrid little sparkplug of a man, and then called us to come get you!"

"Ms. Sciuto, please stifle yourself," said Vance. "What's the _real_ story, McGee?"

Tim coughed. "If Abby means my restraints...those were from a costume party shop. They're just gray plastic, and don't really close all the way."

"What!"

Ziva said slowly, "Were you really a prisoner, McGee?"

Tim looked from side to side. "I, uh...that depends, I guess..."

Gibbs got up and leaned over him. "It's after 1 a.m. and you're playing semantics with us?"

"No, boss! Sorry, boss. I didn't want to do it. I was forced to!" He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. For everything. I wish it had never happened."

"What have you done, McGee?" asked Vance. Then a thought occurred to him. "You were behind the plot to get those three sailors released from prison! It was _you_, all along!"

Panicked, Tim rose. "That's not true, Director! I swear I didn't do that! He had me kidnapped after I got done canvasing that neighborhood with the picture of the suspect. He made me do all this!"

"_Who_, McGee?"

"Don't tell me it's that nebbish, Norman, who's down in Holding," Tony scoffed. "I don't think he could engineer an escape from a paper bag."

Tim scowled at him. "Norman is an audio mixing genius. You weren't able to discover his real voice from the videos, were you? He did all that mixing himself. Seventeen layers, including a toy microphone and a duck caller."

"You were in it together with this…Norman?"

"He said he'd have me fired if I didn't go along with it!"

"Norman would have you fired? Make some sense, Tim!"

Tony shot Abby a look. There was too much confusing talk; too little information. Raw conclusions were flying about like planes coming in to land on an aircraft carrier. "Boss—Director—you can't seriously believe that McGee had a part in staging this! I'll—I'll go out on a limb and swear that this Boy Scout doesn't have it in his soul to commit a crime like this. There, McGee. That's probably the only character reference you'll ever get from me. Use it wisely."

Tim gave him a sour look. "If you all would only give me a chance…"

Pacing, Vance stopped in front of Tim. "Dang it, McGee; there's no one higher than me who can fire you. The President himself wouldn't get involved in this."

"Not the President, sir! But..."

Gibbs suddenly looked drained. "Your old pal, Leon. Secretary Jarvis."

"The SECNAV!" Tony said with a whistle. "But why?"

"He said he wanted to test all of you," Tim said, almost with a whimper, now that it was out. "He told me he wanted to make sure that his MCRT here would not give in to ransom demands." A faint smile traveled across his lips, and then was gone; melted under the others' glare.

"Did we pass?"

"Yes, Ziva. You all passed the test."

"You were never in any danger?"

"No, Abby. Norman is the SECNAV's brother-in-law. The videos were shot in a store room behind his shop. Bernice—that's Norman's wife—has a background in theater. She applied the makeup to mimic wounds and bruises. It was all a lot more comfortable than it probably looked."

Ducky looked uncertain. "You had us so worried, Timothy. You couldn't have given us a signal to show that…things were not as they seemed?"

Tim shook his head. "No! Don't you see? Don't you _see_? The test was on you, _all_ of you, not on me. If you had been able to see through it, or question the reality, Secretary Jarvis might have felt that something harder would have been needed to test your loyalty to the agency."

"This isn't being recorded, is it, Director?" asked Tony.

Vance met his eyes, and shook his head.

"Thank you. So what you're saying, Tim, is that SOB….might have put you in real danger and made that more evident."

"I don't know! Maybe. All I could think of, was, 'Let's end this here and now.' "

"And around 11:30 Jarvis cut it off?"

"Yes. He was convinced that you were not going to give in to the kidnapper's demands, and told me I could go. So Norman made that final video. He then waited with me out in front. His son was going to come pick him up."

Vance picked up his desk phone. "Agent Ross, release Norman Lake, who's in Holding. He's free to go. Thank you."

"Sheesh; what a day," said Abby. "I think I'm just going to crash here, on my futon."

"A very long day indeed," said Vance. "There's no need for any of you to stay here overnight, though, unless you really want to. Go home. Come back in two hours late tomorrow."

Murmuring their thanks, the team filed out. They grabbed jackets and backpacks, firearms, badges, and other personal gear. Morning would come too soon, and they all felt so very tired.

* * *

In the parking garage, Tim remembered that his car wasn't here, and was about to call out to Tony, at the other end of the floor, when he saw a figure nearby in the shadows. "Norman! Sorry that they kept you in Holding. It took a while to make them understand. Hey!"

Norman wasn't alone, Tim saw now. Secretary Jarvis was there, too, and both he and Norman had guns trained on Tim. "Mr. Secretary! What's going on?"

Jarvis' smile was chilling. "They passed _that_ test, Agent McGee. But can they pass another, if you're in greater danger? There are still three sailors in prison, perhaps unfairly. Get in the car."

-END-


End file.
